“Howdy, Mrs. Dig Root,” Applebaum greets the elderly mare guarding the entrance. She’s not sure who is older, Granny Smith or Wither’s grandmare, but they share gray manes, cantankerous dispositions, and a fondness for reminiscing about ancient times with questionable relevance to the topic at hoof.

“Applebaum,” the blind mare answers with a touch of condescension, turning her double-patched face toward Totem. She smiles, toothless and gaunt. “Och, and ye brought ye wee little coltfriend with ye? It’s about time ye got an accomplice!”

“He’s not my coltfriend,” Applebaum counters with a roll of her eyes. She doesn’t correct the part about him being her accomplice, ‘cause it’s kinda true, and her dam instilled a certain honesty in her. Or being little; she’s only got a slight lead on him height-wise, but he’s quite a bit buffer, despite her working on the farm for years.

“Don’t get sassy with me, greeny,” the mare spits out, her dark red coat a dead ringer for Totem’s. Applebaum, chastened, self-consciously dips her head down to run a hoof through her leaf-green mane and tease out the bright red streak. “Why, when I was yer age, I already had two minions and an underfilly! ‘Course, I’d already lost one of me eyes, getting this-” she motions to her cutie mark of a stick of TNT “-but that didn’t stop us from being the best-blam demo scram this side o’ the ‘Horn!”

Now, that part intrigues Applebaum, but Dig Root quickly derails to talk about the mining operations she conducted while excavating the Mausoleum for Princess Celestia. “Why, there we were, Solaris Blueblood about to blast into our base of operations, that self-righteous sunspot about to get what’s coming to her, when-”

“Hi, Tilly,” Totem greets his great-grandmare, interrupting a good hour of winding through lengthy and often tangential chastising. He winks at Applebaum, earning another roll of her green-apple eyes. “Are Rad and Shad still here?”

Gray-whiskered ears tilt back and forth. “Second row, column K. Way in the back, if my old ears are still any good. They brought bedding. Back in my day, we didn’t need bedding! We slept on pointy rock shards, and we liked it!”

Applebaum huffs at the last part, certainly not because of how Totem straightens up a little, but because Mr. C will twist her ear, literally, if those two stay in here overnight. And then Brick Shoes will do the same, and if she’s lucky to the other ear. “Thanks, Mrs. D. Come along, Totem.” She leaves the elderly mare to talk to herself, Totem dutifully following along.

Her brown coat and his red blend into the crates they pass by, nearly indistinguishable in the dim light. It can brighten, if needed, but they only do that in the parts where they’re working. Totem only needs a little cajoling; he must be looking forward to meeting the two mares again. As they get farther in the dates on the crates continue to roll back, centuries upon centuries of history buried away passing by, like so many rows of apple trees whose bountiful harvest has already been packed away.

They round a corner, bright white light spilling into the corridor. It illuminates Radiant Hope and Tempest Shadow, harsh after just a brief minute in the dim shadows. The ice blue mare holds something pointy and dark, inspecting it closely with a certain, well, lust. At first, Applebaum thinks it’s a dagger, but it’s too round, and Radiant Hope tucks it away in a saddlebag as soon as they hear the two approaching.

“Hi, Applebaum!” The horned unicorn greets chipperly, hiding her stashing motion by pulling out a small air freshener, though not many earth ponies bother trying to make the often stale air smell sweet. “Come to help us out some more? We really appreciate it!”

She better, Applebaum thinks dourly, since we aren’t getting paid. But Ah’d never turn away a pony in need.

“Indeed.” Tempest Shadow looks up from the crate she is sifting through and fixes Totem with disdain, tempered by a grudging acceptance of his assistance. “You seemed more confident in your ability to find information on these ‘kirin’ than you have proven.”

Totem slicks his hoof through his mane. “What can I say? These things take time. If you need help relaxing, get some more energy in that tempest of yours?”

“The Storm King tried storm-based pickup lines.” Sparks sizzle from the broken horn at his waggling eyebrows. “I suggest you find new material.”

“I thought you buc-” Radiant Hope starts before a menacing glare from Tempest Shadow shuts her mouth, if only for a second. “So, I mean, it worked.”

Tempest Shadow scowls. “It didn’t work, he-”

“Ladies, ladies,” Totem reassures, a suave clip in his trot as he hops onto the crate Tempest Shadow is digging through. He casually lays his hoof on her withers, earning a withering glare of his own. “If you need to blow off some steam, then-”

Tempest Shadow pushes the dark red colt off the crate before he can get any further, sending him tumbling into the opposite wall of crates.

Applebaum forces a smile. “Let’s just focus on what we’re looking for, and get these crates open. Right, Totem?” She glances over at the colt; he’s already distracted by reading the dates stamped on the sides. “Wow, fifty years after Celestia took over? You’re…” She stops, frowning. “Way off. Didn’t Gusty the Great do all her adventuring, like, before Celestia?”

“From what little we could find of her adventuring,” Radiant Hope reluctantly shares, scratching at the solid floors. “We found even less of what happened when she retired. It’s almost like she disappeared!”

“Or somepony tried to erase her from existence,” Tempest Shadow adds conspiratorially, going back to pulling holey, though remarkably well preserved, blankets, woven with looping patterns nothing like the geometric designs of Rarity. “Now, who would go and do a thing like that?”

“Did ya ask Celestia?” Applebaum asks, stumped.

Tempest Shadow snorts. “The very pony who modifies history in her favor?”

“Hey!” Applebaum exclaims. She’d say something else in defense of the Princess, except for the loud crash from the opposite aisle. “Totem!”

“What?” Totem asks, surrounded by pieces of the busted crate and genuinely confused. “I thought we were opening the crates?”

“Yes,” Applebaum answers, holding a hoof to her forehead. It doesn’t help much; she’s going to get in so much trouble. She’s also mad she’s not the one who got to break it open. She stomps over to more closely inspect the damage. “But we have to put everythin’ back, too!”

Totem stares at her. “Then, shouldn’t ya have said that?”

Applebaum closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and slowly lets it out. She really wants to blow something. Up! She means blow something up! “Totem, Ah want ya to go through the crates Ah open for ya an’ check to see if it relates to Gusty the Great or the kirin.” She’d add more, but that might confuse him, and she desperately wants this to be as straight-forward as possible.

“Aww,” he coos. He pulls a large stone slab from the crate, checks every side, notes the Old Ponish writing, and gingerly sets it down. “If you wanted to work at my side so badly, all you had to do is ask. There’s an opening for third mare.”

“Behind, what, your right and left front hooves?” Applebaum snorts at the absurdity, and only glances at Radiant Hope and Tempest Shadow because she wants to see if they go back to checking crates. They do, as they should.

“If you’re jealous,” Totem returns with a sly smile as he orients the large rock remaining in the crate to inspect the crude artwork, none of it relevant, “then you might need to put in more effort.”

“Urgh,” Applebaum grunts as she pulls out a crate. She locates the nails instantly, thanks to her mark, and a quick pry later and the lid is off. “D’ya really haf’ta hit on every mare that gets close to ya?”

“I just go with what comes to me.” He hops down, the contents of the damaged crate catalogued and repackaged, and sidles next to Applebaum. “‘Sides, what’s the point of life if you never push your luck? You gonna sit around on the farm all your life?”

“No,” Applebaum spits out, here in Canterlot precisely because she found farm life unlivable, what with her deviant mark. She sighs as he nearly wanders off. “Come along, Totem. Next crate.”

They go back and forth for hours, crate after dusty crate. Most are haphazardly packed, the contents of expeditions that unearthed an entire airship’s worth of material, and what ends up here isn’t valuable enough to present in a museum but still has some historical significance.

“Come along, Totem,” Applebaum repeats, voice hoarse, tired of repeating the same thing over and over. She forces open the next crate, same as all the others. It’s got old wooden boards inside, possibly the support structure that once held up something important. She moves to the next, crowbar practically stuck to her hoof she hasn’t set it down in so long, when a motion to her side surprises her. It’s Totem, dragging something to the other two mares.

“I saw this,” Totem announces, as chipper and debonair as ever; which is to say Radiant Hope giggles to herself and Tempest Shadow returns a cold scowl. “And couldn’t help but think of you.”

He kneels, presenting the object: a round, wooden shield, bigger than he is, chipped and worn from what must be years of use. Claw marks bite into the surface, though not enough to obscure the painted image. Two mares circle the center, thin and stylized. The tan mare, shod with a woody brown, has a two-pronged horn that twists like fire and a mane of green clouds. The black mare - shod with wispy red flames, mane an inferno of blue and red that hides a white horn - is otherwise identical, down to the length of their limbs and the shape of their head and horn.

“Because there are two mares?” Tempest Shadow deadpans, immediately going back to her own crate.

Radiant Hope takes a moment longer to inspect it. “No,” she states, lighting up. Applebaum rushes over when it becomes evident this isn’t another of Totem’s attempts to gain the mares’ affections. “Look closer! The horn, do you know of any unicorn whose horn branches?”

“No!” Applebaum exclaims, gasping. “It’s a kirin! It has to be!” Her hooves tap a rapid beat against the floor, giddy with excitement at their first potential lead in days. “This is it! Well done, Totem!” She plants a quick kiss on the red colt’s cheek before going back to prancing about. Radiant Hope matches her beat for beat, long shadows dancing along the floor.

Tempest Shadow frowns, hops down, and ignores how the colt turns the opposite cheek to her. “Where was this found?”

Applebaum turns back, cheeks flushing as she realizes what she did; she hopes he doesn’t read too much into it, but knowing him... She surreptitiously checks the crate for more material, finding more depictions of the kirin and a mothballed journal. “The… Peaks of Peril?” Her brow scrunches up, skimming through the faded pages, but not finding anything else except brief and piecemeal descriptions of the land, all a thousand years out of date. “Where the hay is that?”

“Southwest of the MacIntosh Hills,” Totem answers, sneaking up next to her with a self-assured smile, “on the west coast, by the San Palomino Desert.” Applebaum raises an eyebrow and he shrugs, nonchalant. “What? You tell me to read maps, I read maps.”

“Arimaspi territory,” Tempest Shadow elaborates. She scowls. “Treacherous land, liable to give way at the first misstep, and the inhabitants are just as bloodthirsty and vile. It is no place for inexperienced colts.”

“Hey!” Totem objects. “We could totally come along!”

“Yeah!” Applebaum adds. “We spent all this time helpin’ ya search, and ya just want to leave?”

“I am not saying that to persuade you to join us,” Tempest Shadow objects derisively. “It is a dangerous territory. Equestria does not have any sort of treaty with them, and they pay lip service at best to the Council’s demands, when they bother returning the messenger sent to them.” She exchanges a quick glance with Radiant Hope, who seems unsure. “And the sooner we leave, the better.”

“So you’re just going to rush out there,” Totem demands, half-rhetorical and half actually curious. “Sail through the Bay of Squealing Eels, climb the Bluffs of Moderate Psychosis, ford the Creeks of Muteness, and plunge through the Swamps of Annoying Biting Insects of Unusual Size?”

“The A. B. I. O. U. S.’es are especially vicious,” Applebaum adds, giving a confident nod. They’re mentioned in the journal, and don’t sound very nice at all.

Tempest Shadow gauges Totem again, finding him slightly less unpalatable than before. “You know this how?”

“Me da tells me stories.” A thin smirk crosses his muzzle. “And now I’ll finally get to go on an adventure! Besides, how are you gonna get there? Steal your way onto a boat?”

“She might slee-” Radiant Hope quips before Tempest Shadow smacks her, the broken-horned unicorn’s reprisals becoming less and less effective at silencing her. “Her way on board.”

“We got enough bits for train tickets and renting a boat,” Totem supplies, glancing at Applebaum for confirmation. She frowns, but nods, reluctant.

“Very well,” Tempest Shadow agrees, her reservation easily apparent. “We leave tonight.” She focuses on Applebaum, the brown filly quailing under her gaze. “And you had best keep your coltfriend under control.”

“He’s not my coltfriend,” Applebaum objects under her breath, scowling when Totem grins at her.

Next Chapter: Ch. 101 - Combustibles, Part One Estimated time remaining: 15 Hours, 60 Minutes